The Zero Game

32

Janos’s trip took two different planes, one stopover, and a three-hour leg with a petite Asian woman whose lifelong dream was to open a soul food restaurant that served fried shrimp. Yet he still hadn’t reached his final destination.

“Minneapolis?” Sauls asked through the cell phone. “What’re you doing in Minneapolis?”

“I heard they have a great Foot Locker at the Mall of America,” Janos growled, pulling his bag from the conveyor belt. “Getting stuck in the airport just wasn’t enough fun for one night.”

“What about the jet?”

“They couldn’t turn it around fast enough. I called every place on the list. Any other wonderful suggestions?”

“And now they canceled your flight?”

“Never was one — I figured I’d find another connection to Rapid City, but let’s just say South Dakota isn’t the top priority on the airlines’ flight plans.”

“So when’s the next-?”

“First thing tomorrow,” Janos said as he shoved his way outside and noticed a sky blue 1965 Mustang convertible passing by. The grille emblem was from a ’67, but the tonneau cover looked original. Nice work.

“Janos…”

“Don’t worry,” he said, his eyes still on the red taillights of the convertible as they faded into the night. “As soon as they wake up, I’ll be standing on their chests.”